


A Fire That Never Dies

by hardlyfatal



Series: Find Love Here [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Sweethearts, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gloom & Schmoop, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyfatal/pseuds/hardlyfatal
Summary: One day, whether you are 14, 28 or 65You will stumble uponSomeone who will startA fire in you that cannot die.However, the saddest,Most awful truthYou will ever come to find—Is they are not alwaysWith whom we spend our lives.





	A Fire That Never Dies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sea_spirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_spirit/gifts).



> Only two of the three following items are true.
> 
> 1\. This is a Secret Santa fic for the delightful and delovely Sea_Spirit! I was so pleased to receive her as my assignment for this, because she is a wonderful and generous and helpful person and a very welcome new addition to JBO :)
> 
> 2\. This story is based upon a poem as you shall see below. I will not attribute the author because if I'm not stealing instead of coming up with my own original stuff, is any of this even worth it? A day without plagiarism is like a day without sunshine to me. 
> 
> 3\. The end note contains a photo manip of what Jaime might look like at the end of the story.
> 
> Happy Festivus!

One day, whether you are 14, 28 or 65

 

You will stumble upon

Someone who will start

A fire in you that cannot die.

 

However, the saddest,

Most awful truth

You will ever come to find—

 

Is they are not always

With whom we spend our lives.

 

~*~

14

They fell in love as children do: suddenly, passionately, going from mutual loathing to devoted adoration in the span of a week. Brienne defended Jaime after his abrupt fall from grace, when he tumbled from ‘most popular kid in their grade’ to ‘laughingstock’ with the injury to his hand. Only days later, Jaime threw himself between her and an older bully, shocking all three of them by using his wits instead of his brawn.

A flame sparked to life.

After that, they were inseparable. At first they clung to the fiction that it was only friendship, but it was evident to everyone around them that it went deeper than that. Before the year was half over, they’d admitted the truth to themselves and each other.

Once it was out in the open, there was no stopping it, no stopping them. They fairly glowed with joy, pledging themselves to each other eternally. They planned the trajectory of their lives together and shared their bodies with one another for the first time in the rickety tree house in her backyard. Everything was settled.

They were happy.

His sister, however, was not.

Cersei despised Brienne, for interrupting the close bond between her and her twin, for monopolizing his time, for taking the love owed to her. Jaime was supposed to have kept himself for Cersei alone, not squander himself on a shambling ogre of a girl.

They had to be punished.

And so Cersei began to work: on Jaime so he felt guilty and obligated and reliant on her as he’d been before he met Brienne, and on their father so that the lovebirds could be separated— hopefully forever, but she’d settle for the immediate future. When tenth grade swung around, Tywin shipped Jaime and Cersei off to a boarding school across the country, and Brienne trudged to King’s Landing High by herself.

They parted tearfully, swearing to write and call and be together on holidays. Eventually, though, inevitably, the distance wore them down, wore away what they had created. Separated from her, from his brother, from his home and few friends, and with immense pressure from his father to perform and only Cersei to rely upon, Jaime’s weariness kept him from writing, from calling, from everything except trying to keep his family satisfied.

Brienne struggled. She’d never been popular, and being so wrapped up in Jaime the previous grade had not made her any friends, either. That year was an exercise in endurance— how much could she take? She couldn’t decide whether it was better to have the other students pay attention to her— mocking, sabotaging, wagering— or to ignore her altogether.

Jaime’s absence and increasing lack of contact wore on her. Her confidence in him, never robust because of her surety that she was not good enough, would never be good enough, weakened Brienne until there was nothing left of her love but sorrow.

Her father noted her misery and understood its cause, and when the summer arrived at last, he moved them back to Tarth.

Jaime returned from boarding school after Brienne had gone. Thoughts of her, memories of her and him and _them_ , had sustained him throughout the year apart even when he’d been too weary to attempt contact. He hadn’t worried, when their communication slowed from daily to weekly to monthly to nothing; their bond was strong enough to overcome anything.

He’d believed so, at least.

But she moved away and did not tell him where.

 _She can write to me_ , he thought. _She knows my address. She_ _’ll write._

But it had been too long, and they had been too far apart.

She did not write.

The flame between them guttered to a mere ember, its glow almost gone.

~*~

28

It was a fluke, pure chance. Tywin had sent Jaime to Storm’s End to represent the company at a conference; one of the other banquet rooms was hosting an engagement party. He wasn’t looking where he was going and bumped into an easel bearing a placard that read _Tarth/Hunt Wedding Rehearsal Dinner_.

It wasn’t a rare name, per se; many people from Tarth took their name from the island. Still, it was a shock to the system, after so many years, so many moments of loneliness and longing, and he stood in front of the sign for a long time, turning over in his head what he was seeing.

If it were her… it was perfectly reasonable, that she would get married. They were twenty-eight years old. If Jaime were a different person— if he’d made different choices, had been strong enough to resist Cersei, had not become bound to her through blood ties even stronger than those of twins, but of creating children— he might have been married by then, himself.

He gave himself a few minutes to recall the plans he and Brienne had made once. They would marry, they decided, once they’d graduated from college and become established in their careers— marine biologist for her, lawyer and defender of the downtrodden for him— and figured that twenty-five was the perfect age for it.

They’d have their first baby by thirty, another by thirty-five, the last by forty. They’d work hard, and be happy together, and retire to Tarth and play with their grandchildren.

Except twenty-five came and went. Jaime would never marry, for how could he, when he had Cersei? He’d never have children but with her, children he couldn’t claim, and thus no real grandchildren, either. Lawyer he’d become, but the downtrodden were on their own: the only people he defended were those that would benefit the Lannister Corporation in some way.

The only one of the plans that came to pass, for him, was having three children by forty. He’d had them by thirty, even, Cersei having delivered herself of Tommen only weeks earlier.

No, Jaime’s life was nothing like he had wanted during that magical year with Brienne, and at that moment, he wasn’t truly able to tell if how he ended up were an improvement or not.

He was fulfilled, wasn’t he? He had the kind of love that stories were written about: all-encompassing, unable to be quantified, based in a bond of birth and shared souls. No one would ever comprehend him, accept him and all his flaws, like Cersei. Their children were beautiful, perfect. Their stolen moments together were blissful.

Why, then, was he feeling so sick? Why was his chest aching? Why was he blinking and blinking and blinking to keep the dampness in his eyes from getting the better of him?

Footsteps sounded behind him, and a gasp, and though it had been so long, so many years, Jaime knew who it was. He _knew_.

He should just walk away, just not turn around, just not open himself up for that lance of pain he would feel. But Jaime had never been good at doing what was best for himself.

He turned, and there she was, taller and uglier than she’d been before, and every bit as strong and solid. For a moment he was utterly overwhelmed, cast back to the old tree house as they fumbled with each other’s bodies, words of love thick on their tongues, thick in the air.

 _Oh_ , he thought. How had he forgotten?

Cersei had subsumed him so completely, over the years, that he’d forgotten what it was like to love someone not because of some mystical connection, not because they were a perfect matched set, but because the other person was so exactly what you wanted that not loving them was unimaginable.

Her eyes were every bit as lovely as they had been. More so, perhaps, now that there were a few more years of living behind them, the weight of joy and sadness turning them a richer, deeper blue.

“There you are,” she said, as if he’d only stepped out for milk or cigarettes an hour earlier, as if she’d been waiting for him all this time, and— then she was in his arms, kissing him. The taste and feel and scent of Brienne wound around him, their familiarity snapping back into place like a wayward puzzle piece only just found after being lost behind the couch for a decade.

The ember warmed, flickered, and burst back into life.

How had they made it to his hotel room, a dozen floors above the convention rooms, without his noticing? But there they were, and their clothes were on the floor and he was inside Brienne and their cheeks were wet with the other’s tears.

“Don’t marry him,” he told her, afterward, while they trembled against each other. “You don’t love him.”

“Then give me a reason, Jaime,” she replied. The engagement party had ended an hour earlier. She’d only returned for her forgotten sunglasses. A fluke, pure chance. How was he supposed to let her go again? “Give me a reason to call off the wedding.”

But he could not. What excuse could he give to Cersei? She’d never let him see his sons and daughter again, and he hardly ever saw them as it was. And he’d have to part with the other half of his soul. What was he without his sister? He was only half a person, on his own, and Brienne deserved more than that.

He watched Brienne marry Hunt the next day, then slipped out the back of the sept. His chest felt like it was caving in but at the same time he was happy for her, because this was her chance for a good life, a _happy_ life, the life he wasn’t capable of giving her. She deserved it, and now she would have it.

Just not with him.

Despite his misery, the flame didn’t sputter out, only settled into a small, steady flame, nursed tenderly over the years.

~*~

65

“Who is he, Mom?” asked Brienne’s daughter, quite suddenly.

“Who’s who?” replied Brienne absently, cheek pressed to her grandson’s as she helped the toddler turn the pages of his picture book.

“My real father.”

 _Oh_ , thought Brienne numbly. _She figured it out._

Of course she had. Alysanne had her father’s keen sense of observation in addition to his looks; fortunately for her, all she’d inherited from her mother was the blue eyes. The rest was all Jaime, though, from his perfect proportions to his beautiful symmetry of features to his spun-gold hair.

Brienne had been relieved beyond the telling of it, when Alysanne’s eyes had remained blue after that time when a newborn’s iris color shifted. The three babies she’d had with Hyle after Alysanne all grew into their father’s brown.

He had given her a few wondering looks, at first, when it became clear that Alysanne was so unique-looking, appearing so little like her mother and not at all like him. And Selwyn… Brienne’s father had known almost from the day of Alysanne’s birth, but had never said a word, the dear man.

He was gone now. Hyle was gone, too, just a week buried. That was probably why Alysanne was asking about the father she’d never met, since the one she had known was dead.

“How?” she asked Aly. “How did you realize?”

Alysanne nodded to her son, Selwyn, named after her beloved grandfather. “When his eyes turned green. It’s one thing for me not to look like Dad at all. I could write it off as taking after you, even though we don't look anything alike.”

A diplomatic way of mentioning how her beautiful face and Brienne’s decidedly _un_ -beautiful face had nothing in common.

“Maybe my face is your mother’s, you know? Or Nana’s,” Alysanne continued, referring to Hyle’s mother. “But… green eyes? Pod’s eyes are brown, so… where would the green come from?”

A thin wail arose from the baby swing across the room; she stood and retrieved Galladon, not even a year old. His eyes, too, were a vivid green, and his hair was just as gold as Brienne’s was not.

“And Gal’s eyes sealed it for me,” she concluded as she bounced the sleepy baby on her knee. “One baby with green eyes is a fluke, but two? And… Dad wasn’t doing well, and I didn’t want to upset him, so… I figured I’d wait.”

Brienne nodded, swallowing, licking some moisture onto dry lips.

“Jaime,” she said at last, the first time speaking his name in decades. “His name is Jaime.”

Alysanne tracked him down, arranged the time away from work, placated her ever-patient husband, Podrick.

“He should know about me,” she declared, her surety and conviction pure Jaime, bringing to Brienne’s lips the same sad smile she’d often had when Aly reminded her of him, which was often. _Daily_. Truly, she’d never been apart from him. He’d been with her since the moment of Alysanne’s conception. “He should know about Selwyn and Galladon.”

Brienne agreed; Jaime should know his daughter and grandsons, and they should know him.

“And you’re coming with me,” Aly stated next. “You think I couldn’t tell? The way you look at me sometimes. The way you look at the boys. It’s different from how you are with the others. I know you love them, but something’s missing.”

Brienne tried to muster up a protest, but… Alysanne wasn’t wrong. She loved her sons and other daughter, the children Hyle had given her, but… they weren’t the product of love, not like Aly was. She’d been fond of Hyle. He’d been fond of her name and family legacy and, eventually, of her as well. They’d been content together, or content enough. But Hyle wasn’t Jaime.

“Okay,” she therefore agreed. Even if he didn’t want her in his life again, she’d still be able to see him, one last time… she wanted that, quite desperately.

He’d taken over the family company when his father retired, Alysanne learned, and was semi-retired, by that point. He was known to walk home after working in the mornings, often having lunch in a park halfway between the Lannister Corporation building and his apartment block.

That was where they went, though Brienne protested that it seemed like an ambush, and that it was too cold, that the grass was frosted over and the boys would take a chill. But Aly wanted to watch him for a while before making herself known to him, and how could Brienne dictate how she met her father? She’d already taken too many choices from her daughter where Jaime was concerned.

He arrived when Alysanne had taken Galladon to the restroom to change his diaper and Brienne was left to watch as Selwyn kicked a ball around. Brienne’s heart was trying its best to beat from her chest. Hands clammy, breath short, eyes damp, she stared hungrily.

Jaime was older, as was she, of course, but time had been much kinder to him; though lined and silver-haired, he was just as beautiful as he’d always been. But… sad. There was something deep-etched in his face, some sorrow, some grievous loss. He looked like a tragic fallen god from a painting, his spirit dimmed.

From the shade of a tree, she watched as he walked right past her, his gaze going neither right nor left but focused vaguely before him. How many times had she watched his profile, memorizing the purity of its silhouette? She could have drawn it by rote even after so long.

It all happened so quickly. Selwyn’s ball got away from him, bounding off the grass and down the path where Jaime was walking, rolling to a stop at his feet. What were the odds? They were tiny. It was a fluke, just a breath of a chance. Jaime bent and picked up the ball, smiling at the tiny boy running toward him to retrieve it… Brienne watched. Wondered. Would he realize?

She saw Jaime smile at Selwyn, saw him bend down a bit to give him the ball, saw him freeze in place when he got a good look at the boy’s face, at his eyes.

“Hi, there,” she heard him say slowly, wonder dawning in his voice. “What’s your name?”

“Selwyn!” announced her— their— grandson, in direct opposition to the many admonishments he’d received to never reveal his identity to strangers.

“Where are your parents?” Jaime asked after a moment, during which Brienne knew he was recognizing her father’s name. Only someone familiar with him— someone like Brienne— could have detected the thread of shock and emotion in his voice.

Alysanne had returned, by that point, had been watching, and walked up behind him. She shot a glance at Brienne and then replied. “Here,” she said. “I’m his mother.”

Jaime turned. Saw her. Stared at her, speechless, gaze traveling from head to foot and back again, several times, but always returning to search her eyes, the eyes so like Brienne’s own, before looking at Galladon the same thorough way. Comprehension dawned on his face.

“ _Brienne_ ,” he said to his daughter. “Your— Brienne is your—”

“My mother. Yes.”

“Is she here?” Jaime looked around, wildly, and for a moment, Brienne shrank deeper into the shadows, tucking herself behind the bole of a tree. Age had not ripened her looks to anything approaching beauty; just the opposite, really. And her body bore the marks of carrying four children… she was a poor offering, always had been, hadn’t everyone always said so?

Everyone but Jaime.

He was still searching for her, with hope on his handsome face, a hope so terrible it had Brienne standing, moving closer, leaving the cloaking shadows to go to him like a string stretched taut between them had begun to reel her in.

Aly looked over his shoulder, then, and Jaime turned to follow the direction of it and saw Brienne approaching. Her breath caught, because the sadness lifted from him, the heavy weight pressing him down just melting away. He stood taller, shoulders straightening, years falling from his face.

And then he was in her arms, his hands framing her face like she was a precious thing he’d lost and only just found, kissing her. The feel and scent of him was everything, filling every sense until she tasted salt and knew they were both weeping. Warmth filled Brienne’s chest, and she knew the fire raged through him, too.

“I can’t let you go again,” he said raggedly at last. “Please don’t ask me to.”

“I won’t.” She held him tightly and then, when Selwyn tugged at her sleeve, picked him up and added him to the hug. Alysanne joined them with Galladon, and the five of them embraced for a long time, impervious to the chill wind sweeping the fallen leaves around them into spirals that reached toward the sky, soaring like their hearts.

The slumbering flame they’d created together roared to life once more, and this time it would not fade away.

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
>   
> P.S. The poem's author is Beau Taplin.


End file.
